Page 60 of Smut

It’s like he knew I was thinking about him.

Fuck.

That means Ana is talking to him!

I scamper out of the bedroom and see him walking into the living room, looking around.

“I’m so glad we finally met,” he’s telling Ana, who is grinning at him like he’s some kind of celebrity. I bet she thinks he’s Tom Hiddleston.

“No!” I yell, and then stop as they both turn to look at me.

“Amanda,” Ana says, pouting. “I’m being very good.”

“She is,” Blake says good-naturedly. “She only told me once in the last thirty seconds that you and I need to have the sex together.”

“I said sex, not the sex,” she says. “My English is better than that.”

“Oh my god,” I mutter. I quickly gather up my things, sliding them into my messenger bag. “Let’s go.” I grab his arm and lead him away.

“Nice meeting you!” Blake yells over his shoulder. “I promise I’ll stay longer next time.”

“You will not,” I tell him as I march toward his car.

“Anything to see you all hot and bothered,” he says. “Have you seen your face? You’ve got quite the glow going on.”

I don’t say anything and get in the car.

“Could this be the aftereffects of the big O?”

“No,” I tell him quickly as the car starts and The White Stripes “Rag and Bone” starts playing. “Love this song,” I tell him, turning it up and grooving in my seat.

He looks completely taken aback. “Since when?”

I keep grooving and raise my hand slightly. “Jack White fan here.”

He reaches over and turns down the volume button. “Wait, are you trying to change the subject?”

“There is no subject to change. I didn’t masturbate. End of story.”

He laughs. “Fair enough. But I bet you were turned on.”

“Maybe,” I say, turning the volume up again as we take off down the street while I continue to do my silly seat dance.

Soon we’re settled on his patio, our computers and kindles and notes crowding the table along with a growler of fresh home brew from Spinnakers. Sun fills the space, the breeze coming up from the harbor smelling of salt and the faint whiff of diesel fuel. I’m nervous because of what we’re about to embark on but also completely at ease.

“All right, so we still need a pen name,” he says. “And I have just the one.”

He’s trying so hard not to smile.

“What?” I ask cautiously.

“Amanda Lovecox!”

I roll my eyes.

“Unless you don’t love cocks.”

“I’m not going to answer that,” I tell him. Then it hits me. “Blake Lovecox.”